Lightning.

three

five

Thunder.

There is safety in the miles between the sight of your face and the memory

of those words:

I never wanted to be your friend, Sarah.

Rain still flecks grey these eyes recalling the storm cloud’s roil from your shoulders when you heard
I loved you
the wrong way,
that I loved you
without the volatile drenching
of Illinois’s thunderheads. That summer,

our friendship was swept away with paper boats
and maple leaves down a city drain, and ever since

I’ve marked our distance.


S.M. Pruis is a student and poet under rainy Seattle skies. She works as the Social Media Coordinator for Image Journal and as the Administrative Coordinator for KTF-the Prison Project, an arts therapy program. Links to her published work can be found on her website: www.pruispoetry.art

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